


Feast of Regrets

by Infinite_Monkeys



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alien memes? Maybe?, Crack, Don't Mess With Loki, Gen, Glitter, Implied/Referenced Conquering of Unnamed Planets, POV Thanos, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Technically a Fix-It Maybe?, Thanos Loses, The Bad Titan, The Big Floaty Chair, The Thanoscopter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 11:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinite_Monkeys/pseuds/Infinite_Monkeys
Summary: Thanos should never have tried to recruit the god of mischief.





	Feast of Regrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaggPatchFace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaggPatchFace/gifts).



> As should be abundantly clear when you read it, I do not own Marvel or these Characters.
> 
> This fic was inspired by RaggPatchFace, who dropped the idea in the comment section of a previous fic. It made me laugh, and I was too weak to leave it alone.

Thanos should never have tried to recruit the god of mischief and lies.  
  
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The little Jotunn had fallen into his lap, almost literally, and as a man willing to literally destroy half the universe in the name of economy, it just made sense not to let him go to waste. An efficient answer to a maddening question.  
  
Perhaps his mistake was in the choice of assignments given to his newest unwilling recruit. Earth had been his playground, once upon a time, and instead of providing a tactical advantage, it allowed him to fail more spectacularly than Thanos had thought possible. Still, when Loki managed to lose not only the Space Stone but also the Mind Stone and entire Chitauri army he had been loaned, Thanos put him on the "going to suffer once I take over the universe" list and moved on to other things.  
  
In fact, he had nearly forgotten about him entirely when he returned from a particularly grueling campaign to find his throne a bright, ugly shade of pink.  
  
Worse, the color didn't so much as fade when he set the strongest of his lieutenants to scrubbing it. When the outer layer of the stone itself was scoured away, the stone beneath was also pink. Nebula suggested painting over it, but when they tried the color bled through like a stain. His options, as they stood, were to abandon the seat altogether or sit in the pink chair.  
  
I'm the end, there was no choice. No other chair was large enough for his frame, or so comfortably molded to his body, or so tall and imposing and floaty.    
  
When the first few generals he met with sniggered, he snapped their necks. Word spread and before long, no one laughed.  
  
To his face, at least. He had his suspicions.  
  
Just like he had his suspicions about who was behind this inconvenient prank.

* * *

  
  
The planet they were conquering had reached the stage of being comfortably primative and stayed there.  
  
That is, they had harnessed electricity, and textile manufacturing, and polymer synthesis, they had organized their hovels into large sturdy cities full of amenities and trade, but they had not yet shown the interest or initiative to join the galactic community. Did not, apparently, know such a community existed until now. Thanos and his children would be their introduction and their undoing.  
  
Still, something was off in the split-second reactions of the planet's inhabitants, in their confusion, in their screams. They should not have heard of him, yet their fear was not of the unknown. It was the fear of one who has had the familiar twisted around on them, fear of a small pet gone rabid, a murderous clown.  
  
Something caught his eye, and he lunged forward and snatched the man from the street, dangling him at arm's length.  
  
On his shirt was a picture of Thanos' face. Several, in fact.  
  
The first was a fairly good likeness, Thanos' familiar features set in a look of grim determination. The caption read simply ‘The Mad Titan’. It was a title he'd learned to accept, to appreciate, even. Of course, to simple minds genius was indistinguishable from madness.  
  
The second, though, had his face altered, a grotesque grin painted onto his features. ‘The Glad Titan’, the caption read.  
  
The third was similar, only instead of a grin, his features were twisted into comical sadness, a single cartoon tear running down his cheeks. ‘The Sad Titan’, proclaimed the blocky letters.  
  
In the last, his head was bowed sheepishly, almost a flinch, as a disembodied hand smacked him over the head with a rolled-up newspaper. ‘The Bad Titan’, it concluded.  
  
Thanos growled, and the man squealed and squirmed in terror. “Where did you get this,” he demanded.  
  
“I don't know,” he said. “They sell them all over. It's a fad.”  
  
He frowned. “There are more of these?”  
  
“Yeah, man.” He whimpered again as Thanos shook him. “Shirts. Hats. Bumper stickers. You name it.”  
  
He growled again and tossed the man aside. He bounced once, rolled a bit, then struggled to his feet and limped away.  
  
Now that he knew what he was looking for, they were everywhere, littering the planet like the corpses he left in his wake. His face was plastered across clothing, stuffed dolls, balloons, each one a new degrading mockery.  
  
By the end of his conquest the people feared him, but he couldn't help but suspect they still didn't respect him. He suspected, too, that he knew who was behind the campaign.  
  
It didn't end with that one planet. Somehow it had caught on, and everywhere he went there was his face but not, mocking him. On worlds where he was known and feared, they took on a defiant aspect, but still they persisted.  
  
It was nearly enough to drive a titan truly mad.

* * *

  
  
‘The Bad Titan’ became the bane of his existence, but at the end of the day, when he sat upon his pink throne, it made little difference. Still his conquests spread across the galaxy, still his plan marched forward toward the inevitable completion of his ultimate goal.  
  
The pranks inconvenienced him, true, but they never did any true harm. He got used to the glitter that eventually brightened the pink of his throne, making it scratchy and uncomfortable and then glimmering from the folds of his clothing, clinging to him like a foul stench wherever he went. When Ebony Maw came to him complaining that the rations for their army had been improbably replaced by rubber ducks, he invaded a nearby system and stole more. When that song, that awful, disparaging song that popped up out of the blue gained in popularity, he refused to listen, and had anyone who hummed it in his presence shot.  
  
All minor irritations that he could overcome.  
  
Until Xandar.  
  
The fight to the vault where they kept the Power Stone was long and bloody. He marched through the doors exhausted and grimy, stepping over the bodies of the last few defenders who had stood in his way.  
  
It was there, though, locked up in its little container, straining to be free.  
  
Or, at least, so he assumed until he opened the container to find a tiny crying-Thanos plush toy. When he crushed it in his fist it gave a small, high-pitched squeak, like it was meant to be chewed by a smallish pet.  
  
Thanos screamed and vowed his revenge in the language of the titans, long extinct.

* * *

  
  
A trip to Earth was overdue. He had put it off in the hope that he'd have at least one Infinity Stone before his arrival, but that had been denied him.  
  
Nonetheless, he would go. His rage would serve to fuel him in the absence of the stones' power.  
  
There would be no ridicule this time, no mockery. He sent his children ahead to prepare, and they assured him the cursed memorabilia had not reached the Terran homeworld.  
  
He even had them prepare for him appropriate transport, fitting for one deserving of the respect he was due. A helicopter, the best transport available on the Earth, freed from gravity like an airplane yet maneuverable as an automobile.  
  
They painted it gold as his still-empty gauntlet.  
  
When his ship touched down he went to find it. It gleamed as gold and shining as he demanded, perched precariously like a rare bird, and as he approached he could make out lettering on the side.  
  
"THANOS", read the helicopter in bold, blocky letters, and beneath that, in uneven green spray paint, "sux".

* * *

  
  
He didn't remember the battle. He certainly didn't remember losing, but when the haze of red cleared he was in a clear prison cell with energy barriers for its walls.  
  
They tell him the defenders of Earth found him swearing furiously and trashing his own helicopter, kicking it around the city with enough force to dent skyscrapers. The one in the armor calls him ‘big baby’ and jokes about putting him in a corner, and Thanos will feed him his own suit for that, bit by bit, as soon as he escapes.  
  
Well, for that or for asking him if he lost a fight with the tooth fairy. The glitter wasn't his fault, it wouldn't come _out_.  
  
He spotted the large blond one with a hammer shaped suspiciously like the headache he was just now noticing, and shouted “you!”  
  
The man looked faintly pleased to be noticed. “I.”  
  
“Tell your bedeviled, snakebit, infernal brother he will regret this!” He dropped his voice into the lower and scarier registers that usually cowed people even from his sparkly pink throne. “Tell him I will make him long for something as sweet as pain.”  
  
The man frowned, looking honestly confused. “Loki? You must be mistaken. No one has seen him since he failed to conquer this realm and eluded our capture.”  
  
“Must be why they call him the _Mad_  Titan,” someone said, and they all laughed.

* * *

  
  
They left him alone before long, only a single armed guard watching his cell. It was humiliating.  
  
A faint sound at the edge of his hearing slowly grew, and when he could make it out it resolved itself into _that song_ , the one with the slant rhymes and jangly chorus where every line was dedicated to mocking him.  
  
He growled, low and deep, and the guard stiffened. “Where is that song coming from?” he demanded, and it was near a scream.  
  
“What song?” The guard at the door sounded wary, but also genuinely confused. He didn't hear it.  
  
He didn't hear it playing over, and over, and _over_  again. “Mad Titan, right,” the man grumbled. Keep this up and it would be true.  
  
In the corner was a flash of green eyes, a suggestion of manic laughter, but it was gone before he could properly focus upon it, leaving behind only the repeated strains of that hateful song.  
  
No, Thanos should never have tried to recruit the god of mischief and lies.


End file.
